Action & Reaction
by M.J. Hughes
Summary: Join my adventure as I show you my experience with one the most violent crimes of the modern times.


We're all suckers for tragedies…

And mine is a tragedy on the grandest of scales, the figurative evisceration of my life since that wretched day on the beach in the late spring of 07'. It is the beginning in the chain of causation, which has seen the erosion of my relationships with all those who were close to me, the destruction of myself, piece by piece as I fought against the undeniable force of self-hatred in the aftermath of my rape. Nothing will wipe the images that constantly cloak my consciousness, the feelings of emptiness, of worthlessness, the loss of any sense of self, It is nigh on impossible to think that I will ever belong to anyone or thing in a carefree manner like that of times gone by, now I am everything I resented, I am everything that is not normal, not right, I am everything that does not belong in the life of a 16 year old girl, I am paranoid, anxious, overly stressed, and violently bipolar.

Silence is my worse enemy, it's all encompassing nature, allows me to relive my sordid ordeal, not something I want or need to remember. Its' effect can be seen in every aspect of my life, physically I am a shell of my former self, my reaction though not originally obvious, has driven everyone away from me, though it was entirely my fault, I constantly painted myself as the victim, it drove my family. my friends. my teachers, to there wits' ends. And sometimes I slip into a state of mind that allows me to be free from my emotions, feelings and all of life's problems, I analyse myself… critically, bemoaning my childish actions and inactions that had led me to this point in time, alone, abused and anti-social all qualities I deplored in my past, its eroded any and all common ground I had to relate to people, to empathise and communicate with people, its isolation and abandonment in every sense of the word.

Had I wanted the advice of those around me, had I been able to listen to adults, had I been able to accept there words as truth, then maybe I wouldn't be me, but they all say the same ridiculous, monotonous line "It's not your fault, you feel betrayed" bullshit. If that were true then holy shit I wouldn't be feeling like this you imbecilic morons! Cant you see that everything you say does nothing but serve as fodder for my vindictive mind to use against me, its method of torture is brutal and straight to the point, highly effective with significant trauma left over.

If I were… it's the ultimate precursor to every conscious and unconscious thought that manages to flow through my embittered mind, that what if's, the but if I, the if I did this.. They're all progressive stages of denial, there evidence of my lack of mental fortitude, lack of resolve to free my self of my demon, but instead I choose to yearn for the embrace of it, to hold it close and have it whisper my darkest moments into my ear, to remind me of what a flimsy excuse for a human existence that I am.

A conflict of mind is never good when trying to overcome a traumatic event, I desire someone to hold me, heal me, tell me everything is going to be all right, to understand me and to be my best friend. But at the same time I cling to everything that could possibly distance me from my peers, anything to make them abhor me is like a drug, its contribution to my independence from any group or society is a small anaesthetic for the pain and turmoil that is my fucked up life. I hate crowds, I hate being touched, yet to belong in anyway THESE are the key elements. That I detest. Tell me do you think I could ever make friends without being able to hang out in crowds without being able to make the smallest touching gesture. No i'm limited to the distance always observing but never touching, such is my life.

Summer 07 brought about the first encounter with someone special, he was new to my school, he looked battered in a handsome sort of way, he was slightly tanned, about 5 ft 5, his shirt suggested he worked out even then it wasn't obvious, it was subtle, unknown power, he was by the sounds of his accent Australian, I mused whether to ask about drop bears and kangaroos, but thought that he wouldn't need the broken wreck making infantile jokes, I was social suicide, by my own choice, that eventually permeated to the rest of my class men. Now I was non existent, just another presence, merely an observer to the chaotic rush of school.

"G'day, I'm Braydon" the voice came from beside me his hand was stretched out to me a friendly offer no doubt, but I froze, my breathing hitched, my eyes widened, my mind was a mess, I started shivering, I was going into shock, this was my first male contact since.. Well THAT spring, I'd consciously stayed as far away from boys as possible inside my school, after I clocked one in the nuts for tapping me on the shoulder, they were happy to oblige, but now here was an unknown, in my shock I had slipped and fell rather heavily, not that it registered till after the fact.

"Are you alright?" he asked from above me… above me.. Smothering me.. I felt the wind whipping over my shoulder again, the sand pressing into my back, his arms holding me down, I could feel the anvil of dread smacking me over the head, and with these feelings surging inside me I lashed out, scratching, kicking, clawing at anything I could get into contact with, hopefully the offending character looming overhead, I heard a few satisfying yelps and felt the presence back off followed by some incoherent mutterings.

"Crazy cow!, I was just trying to help" by now everyone in the corridor had gathered at the scene, all whispering about that girl and the new guy, but as quick as they came they left, it wasn't the first time they'd seen me go all 'skitz' on them, at first they'd been concerned but now it was just the weird girl, doing what she does best.

Remember…. Violently bipolar...

Yeah thats me TJ Lannigan, Taylor 'Fucking' Jane Lannigan. Wrecked bitch and class pariah at your service.

This ends my first short-story of sorts, its lack of structure is meant to reflect her chaotic mind, her lack of name is a reflection of the sense of worthlessness she feels, I have no experience with rape, and apologise in advance if I offend anyone or group, my intention is to explore it in a perspective that is unique to myself.

Sincerely,

M.J. Hughes


End file.
